Forgive The Children We Once Were
by Nrrrd-Grrrl-Meg
Summary: The odds were in their favor. Seventy-Three children came out of the Hunger Games as victors. Some were broken before they even entered, some were left with scars even the Capitol couldn't hide. These are their stories. (A series of one-shots)
1. The First Career

**Forgive the Children We Once Were**

A/N: I wanted to get into the One-Shot Game and figured what better way to do it, than do a one shot based on each and every victor up until the Seventy-Third Games. Yeah, yeah, unoriginal, but who gives a crap. Enjoy the story.

I do not own The Hunger Games, but you already knew that. If I had, Cecelia would have won the Third Quarter Quell. To hell with continuity and logic! I also do not own the amazing song, "Forgive The Children We Once Were" by Delta Rae, which inspired me to write these, hence the title of this story.

**The First Annual Hunger Games**

**Winner: Adella, District Eight**

When we rose up in our twenty-four tubes, none of us knew what to do. Half of us died right then and there, refusing to wait for the clock to strike zero; the call of the Cornucopia was too much. At eighteen, the eldest of us all, I took charge, running for the golden horn once it was deemed safe to move and that's when I made my first kill, the little brat from Twelve that had been making fun of my empty left eye socket. As his partner watched, I slit his throat and bathed in the crimson liquid that came forth from it. From there on, it was easy to kill. After all, I had a family to go home to.

There were kinks in the arena; mutts that attacked each other, sponsors sent precious gems and coins instead of food, medicine, and water. Halfway through the games, which only lasted a week thanks to all the jumpers at the Bloodbath, I was sent a laverish fur coat, despite the fact that I was fighting for my life inside a makeshift Rainforest. Sure, it wasn't exactly practical, but I appreciated the sentiment. Later, I was told that I was the tribute the sponsors favored the most.

The cocky runt from Twelve, the aptly named Flint, might have been my first kill, but he surely was not my last. I was a Career before there was even a term for them, systematically ending the life of any and all tributes unfortune enough to cross my path. The girl from One, a plucky little minx name Glamour, felt my wrath when she attempted to steal the bounty sent to me by the Capitolites that loved me. I took my time with her, making sure any whom saw knew what would happen if you tried to take away the trinkets that I earned. The frail boy from Six, the only other tribute besides Flint whose name I bothered to learn, was my favorite kill. His ally, the older boy from Two, screamed his name over and over as I drove my knife into his stomach over and over. For years I could almost taste the pain in tone as he cried for Dexter to come back to him. He practically begged for me to end his life after what he witnessed.

The finale was almost set in the stars from the moment my blade created a crimson smile across Flint's neck; his District Partner met me where it all began, a pickax in hand. The battle seemed to last for hours, blows were traded, blood spilled, all along the chared remainds of twelve children blown to bits by the remote mines set around our entry into this hellhole. Somehow, during our fight, we both ended up weaponless, causing our fight to get just that much more interesting. The girl, all of fifteen, was a scrappy little fighter, clawing and scratching at my face and neck while berating me for taking Flint's life.

Just as I was gaining the upper hand and scrambled for my knife, she managed to kick dirt into my face, blinding me in my only remaining eye and left me a weezing mess. For the first time since Flint, it actually looked like I was going to lose it all, and then she pulled her tiny ice pick from her boot, mounting me and pinning my arms down with her knees as I trashed about like a child having a tantrum. And then, I saw it – the last image I would ever see. The sunlight made the point gleam brightly as she drove it down into my right eye, blinding me for life. However, in doing so, she made one fatal mistake.

She removed her knee from the arm that held my knife.

In one swift motion, I swung my knife and against all odds, plunged it into the side of her neck. The BOOM of the cannon signled the end of my games, but it did little to bring me joy. I promised my widowed father and seven younger siblings that I would return home to them no matter what, refusing to let my supposed 'handicap' hinder me in my pursuit of a better life for them outside of the dim, dank factories. Never again would I see a picture painted by my youngest brother, Levi, an artist if ever I saw one. Twelve's dark gray eyes, laughing over her faux victory, forever ingrained in my memory, as was the blade she took her time driving into my last portal to the world. There was nothing even the Capitol could do to give me back my slight; opting instead to allow my outcome serve as a reminder to those who aided the rebellion, a symbol of things to come.

It was I, Adella, that won the first Hunger Games. The first to move into the lonely section of Eight known to all as The Victor's Village. The first to spend even my waking hours plagued by deblitating nightmares.

The first victor to end her life, driving a blade across my wrist as I soaked in a bathtub.


	2. The Afterthought

A/N: Thanks to my three followers, you guys rock socks! Also, I got the idea of the sponsors sending lavish gifts instead of items that will help you instead of the arena from the amazing Kate-The-Great-And-Powerful and her story, "The Highlights". Check it out in my favorites. Also, sorry for the delay in updating this, I wrote this and re-wrote this chapter at least three times to get it right. Enjoy and review.

**The Second Annual Hunger Games**

**Winner: Mordicai, District 11**

This was never my fight to win. There were twenty-three others more qualified than I was, with lives more exciting than my own. I was the afterthought, the underdog, the dark horse. District Eleven doesn't breed winners, only children that work for pittance and go to bed with screaming bellies. That doesn't mean I was a pushover back then, I just knew my place. It wasn't my time to go, yet, it was never there's as well, if that made any sense. Take the brute from Four, who rose up out of the ground and began eying me up like I was a piece of meet, even licking his lips as he bore holes in the back of my skull. Or the twitchy girl from Six, with her short, out of control red hair and hands that never stopped moving. All of us felt the pressure of wanting to return to our lives, regardless of what those said lives were like.

There was nothing special about me before the games, nothing you'd brag to the President about. I was Mordecai, the bastard, pacifist result of a one-night stand between a Peacekeeper and a field worker. And yet, when the gong rang out in my arena, I was right into the thick of things, fighting for something, _anything,_ that would save my pathetic life. I found it in the form of a small backpack and with that, I retreated from the battlefield and leapt into the tall grass, itchy grass that surrounded the platforms and cornucopia, but not before I saw my District partner, a tiny, frail girl named Maize become the first victim of the Bloodbath. Actually, it was her head I saw as it landed a few feet away from me as I ran for cover, severed right off of her shoulders by Four. Her blood coated the bag that contained next to nothing that would save my life.

My arena was modeled after what people call The Australian Outback. High grass gave way to hot, blistering plains of nothing but open space ripe to play the home-field for an epic battle between starved children. Animals grazed around me, from funny-looking, tiny gray bears to hoping giants that carried their young in a slot in their stomach. At night, giant spotted field mice came out and feasted on lizards and even tried to make a meal of me, biting at my arms and fingers. Two died within the first night from startling the animals around them, making the total dead from the Bloodbath until the morning an even ten, including sweet little Maize.

By day three, I was delirious from dehydration. The pack I gambled my life for held nothing but rope, coil, dried fruit and jerky, and an empty bottle with water purifier. No weapon for the pacifist. I hiked through the grass, keeping myself well hidden from both animal and human hunters, until finally, I found the water source my body and mind so desperately craved. It's also were I met her.

Hidden in a tree overlooking the water, Twitchy from Six took it upon herself to nearly scare me to death by dropping backwards from the tallest branch with just the crook of her knees to stop her from splatting on the grass. Her hair was even wilder than it was at launch, her eyes darted from left to right, never focusing on one thing for very long. I remembered her from the interviews mainly; during Training she spent the entire time in the rafters and giggling like a madwoman.

Her name was Ed, an orphan from the poorest section of Six. Abandoned by her father, she was allowed to rename herself as a way of forgetting her past and the best she could come up with was Edward. A smile still spreads across my face whenever my mind finds itself to that moment, under the Mangrove tree, when she spoke of her life, her harsh feelings towards the Capitol. She was a kindred spirit, a true ally. I knew that if I didn't win, that she was a good victor. We stuck it out together after that, making our way around the arena and hiding out in the trees to keep away from those playing the game.

Four was out for blood that year. Maize might have been his first kill, but he racked up five more afterward that, almost as if he was trying to outdo the girl that won last year. From our spot in the Mangrove tree, we watched as he held the uppity girl from Seven's head under the water until the bubbles stopped. Ed almost let out a whimper, which would have led to us being caught, but I covered her mouth just in time to catch it. The pain in her amber eyes as she watched the girl that was once the same age as her struggle and wiggle under his weight killed me, almost making me want to leave the protection of our tree and take him out myself. But, alas, I couldn't bring myself to do it.

I was a coward.

Our alliance lasted until the final four, when we bit each other adieu and promised not to bring harm to each other. We had aged a lifetime in those short days together, a friendship built on mutual hate and upbringing. Just hours after we split her canon sounded, she was mauled to death by the same little bears that climbed the trees with us and grazed on the leaves. I cried for hours, my heart broke over a lost friend, not even bothering to budge when I heard another canon sound.

And then I heard the pinging. A parachute landed in front of me, the only one I would get. Inside, a blowgun and three needles and, more importantly, a note.

_Do it for Ed. -M_

Monet, my escort. She wanted me to break my vow of non-violence, to end the boy from Four. And end him I would.

Lightening cracked the skies as he swung his sword at me, ready to end me like he did my only lifeline to home. I ducked, praising my tiny, malnourished body for once in my life. This left me wide open to use the darts on him, catching him in the neck on the first time. It slowed him down, just as I knew it was, but then...he began to twitch and rock around, his face grew pale.

It wasn't until he dropped to the ground that I learned the darts were dripping with poison.

My mother stopped looking me in the eyes when I came home. That bothered me more than his face showing up every time I close my eyes. But then I think of Ed and those days in the trees and somehow, I am given the strength to go on. Besides, if I took the easy way out, I'd never hear the end of it from her.


	3. The Bully

A/N: I don't want to do one of these every single time I post a chapter, but I just wanted to thank everyone again for following and reviewing this. Also, I created a blog for this which can be found on my page and will be updated every time I update here. Nothing special, just a picture and some stats. Lastly, I want to apologize for being so late with this. I became part of a 24 Authors, 24 Tributes story on here under the title, _It's All In Their Hands_ under the author _24 by 24._ It's under my favorites, check it out and look out for the defensive underdog from District Ten by the name of Imogene Guthrie!

**The Third Annual Hunger Games**

**Winner: Steam, District Six**

When I was Reaped for my games, my district cheered. My reputation as a bully had forsaken me and my father's status in the district couldn't save me from my inevitable fate. The girls whose hearts I had broken over the years spit at my feet, cursing my name as they turned away. The boys who felt my wrath taunted and jeered, their laughter following me through the Capitol. I fed on their words and their enjoyment and turned it into the fuel I needed to return home with a vengeance.

The Capitol knew they had a victor on their hands from the word go, with my antics at the Chariot Ride (drawing attention to myself by blowing kisses and playing to the crowd), my stellar training score (a nine, the highest that year), all the way to my much-reviewed interview (which became notorious and was seen as the template for all interviews to come). By the time I rose up the launch tube and into my arena, I was already a legend. All I needed was to make it back home.

The arena itself wasn't bad, especially from being one of the first. Two years in a row saw little variation to the forest and outback themes and my arena was set to break the mold. Just like me. Our playground was a battlefield. Literally, a battlefield. The arena was open, sans for little trees and makeshift houses that housed goodies for us as well as traps. Grenades littered the ground between us and the Cornucopia, as did old-fashioned satchels instead of the usual colored backpacks. Decorating the mouth of the Cornucopia were riffles, like the ones straight out of our history books, and artillery swords that caught the bright orange sun beautifully. It drew me in like moth to a zapper, causing me to zone out the war going on around me.

I ignored the guns, which were a fad that never caught on in the games, and lead my pack against our enemies with a golden saber in hand. It was befitting to someone of my caliber; the sergeant leading his troops to battle. The powerhouses from Ten and One followed me like I was President Cross himself, finding the rebels and disposing of them like the cattle that they were. The older girl from Five was first, her body crumbling under the point of my blade, which made its way through her stomach by way of her back as she attempted to run from me. She gasped, begged me to stop, but all I could see were the faces of those that mocked my name being drawn, I heard their cheers coming from her gaped open mouth. A second slice ended her life and I watched as the life drained from her body. Next to me, Wrangler grunted in approval, his tiny district partner sprawled like a rag doll in front of him.

I was like a star with my own bodyguards. Together, we systematically eliminated those foolish enough to find us. The others, well, the Gamemakers took care of those. We watched on baited breath as the mousy-haired little bastard from Three slipped into one of the many log houses in arena, only to have a trap sprung on him that left him a bloodied and battered mess to be cleaned. The girl from Twelve was also not so lucky, as a cannon blast ripped through her body, splattering her across the field she was prancing through and it took the Hovercrafts a few returns to collect her remains.

As I made quick work of Dash from One, whom had become no longer useful, Wrangler received our first parachute of many parachutes. The Capitol must have been impressed with us; a full course dinner for two was delivered in all, which gave the other tributes some time to take care of themselves. Three cannons echoed around us as we stuffed our faces, ignoring the fresh blood that stained our hands. For Wrangler, it was the most food he had ever seen in one sitting, but for me, it wasn't enough. _Nothing_ was ever enough.

By the time it came down to the final five, we had taken care of all of the big time players in the game. The girl from Four with the trident and net that managed to scoop up a fair number of tributes and actually got her hands on Wrangler, ending him before I had to do it myself. The hatchet-wielder from Seven took out her, leaving just us and the bitch that came into the arena with me, armed only with the satchel I saw her gain during the Bloodbath. Axon, daughter of a mechanic, looked even more frail than she had before the Games began, if that was even possible. However, it wasn't her body that kept me interested, it was the glint in her eyes that gave away the fact that the grease monkey had a trick up her sleeve.

Quick as lightening, she tossed the bag in our direction and a smile spread across her face. It wasn't until I noticed the string that I caught on to what she had done and I made a break for it. Seven noticed it before I did, but he was still too late. The string was connected to the pins in the grenades, which sent pieces of Seven everywhere. It also blasted her backwards and left half her face a mangled mess. She should have been screaming; Panem knows I was. The ringing in my ears and burns on my arms made me wail like a pansy. It took me what seemed like days to get myself together enough to stand and by then, I had some hearing return and just in time – her laughter was echoing all around me. After everything, the searing pain that had to be spreading through her body, the anguish of knowing she had done it to herself, she still laughed at me.

No one laughed at me anymore, not even after I went home. They saw the pure, unadulterated joy in my face as I drug my saber across her throat and cackled at the sound of her cannon and they feared me once again. Being Reaped into the Hunger Games was supposed to be the end of me, the end of my reign of terror. Instead, I came back a victor, the first one from Six. Even when they said I wouldn't last half as long as that urchin Ed from last year, I proved them wrong and did so with flare. I came back a star, a legend, a hero.

Just ask all those kids whose lives I ended.


	4. The Heartbroken

A/N: Two in two days? WHAT?! Check out the blog for this, link is on my bio. Read. Review. Enjoy.

**The Fourth Annual Hunger Games**

**Winner: Wake, District Four**

Before our names were called, our lives were simple. Our days were spent on the beach, riding waves and running through the sand; our nights sitting around bonfires and relaxing with our friends. The night before our Reaping, we slept together on that very beach and gave in to our most primal urges for the very first time. We showed up late that day, still wearings our bathing suits from the night before, caring very little about the future.

And then, her name was called.

River's face drained of color as she made her way to the stage, tears streaming down her face. My heart broke into a million pieces and I screamed to all that would listen that I volunteered. Of course, because I was a male, I could not take her place as tribute and she stood on the stage, her sun-bleached blonde hair shinning in the sun. She had never looked more beautiful in my eyes. It was then that I made a vow to take the place of whomever was called next, but I would never have to.

I was Reaped along side of her.

Into the Capitol we were thrust, where they preyed on our already established relationship. We were pushed as lovers forced to fight one another, to break the hearts of those in the Capitol. It worked, to be honest; they cheered our names during the Chariot rides and cried during our interviews. We were the stars of the show, forced into the spotlight when all we wanted to do was survive together or die in each others arms. Funny enough, the Capitolites wanted the same thing from us.

As I rose up in my tube, the scuba-like suit made sense, as there was water as far as the eye could see. Between us and the cornucopia, there was nothing but beautiful, blue water. I almost cried, right then and there, as it looked so much like the beaches and ocean of home. Just eight spots to my left was River, her face pale and listless. Before she even rose up in her tube, she had already given up. The light that usually burned behind her chocolate eyes was blown out, replaced by a look of pure despair. I smiled at her, mouthing the words _"I love you"_ to her, but she just looked away. It was right then and there that I knew what she had planned.

The clock ticked down and she didn't look at me again until it reached seven, a special number for us, as we met each other as seven years olds in the Seabrook Home for Displaced Children. Her smile was breathtaking once again and she winked before leaping off of the pedestal, bursting into flames and shocking all twenty-three remaining tributes. As the clock hit zero, none of us moved, every last one of us were in awe by what she had done. Myself, I just stood there, staring at what remained of the girl I loved.

After a few moments, the rest of us began to move, making their way towards the cornucopia, while I still stood there, staring. In a sense, I am still standing there, trying to find an answer as to why she did what she did. We promised we'd make it to the finale together, that we wouldn't let the Capitol break us. River was a fantastic actress, assuring me that she wouldn't leave my side. I didn't even think to join the others until I heard the boy from Nine yell at me to move and saw the girl from Two aiming an arrow at what would have been my heart if any of it still remained. She had already taken out two others, who's bodies floated face down in the water not far from myself. What she didn't take into account was my superior swimming ability, as well as my break with humanity. I dove under the water, moving quickly and unnoticed until I rose up just feet from where she stood and knocked her into the water, keeping her head under with one hand while the other held onto the cornucopia, only leaving go of her dark brown locks when the bubbles stopped rising. In the ensuing chaos, I manged to get my hands on a diver's knife and small bag from the cornucopia, then swam off in search of land.

Luckily for me, I found a tiny island, not much bigger than my suite in the Training Center, with just just a few trees to keep me shaded from the unforgiving sun and a small body of fresh water. Including River and the girl from Two, fifteen tributes died in the Bloodbath and I would later learn the most drowned within moments of jumping from their launch pads. River's smile haunted me that night, as she stared down at me from the stars. However, I gained a slight bit of joy when the boy from Nine's face did not appear. He didn't have to warn me of the arrows, he could just as easily kept his mouth shut in an attempt to go home. But, I had seen him during his training sessions, watching River and I as we played around at the net-making stations and made out in the dark corners of the Training Center. He looked lonely, like he was missing what we had. During his interview, he said as much, speaking briefly of a girl waiting for him at home. Thanks to our interviews, the Capitol no longer had feelings to give when he said her name through his tears.

Savannah.

I stayed on my island for what seemed like weeks, using the coil in my bag and various sized branches to fish for my meals, listening as the canons sounded every few hours. The boy from Three, the pair from Eleven. The partner of the girl I had murdered. Each time I expected to see his face and each time I was mistaken.

Before long I was discovered; the girl from Eight drifted down to my sanctuary on the body of the girl from Twelve. She was delusional, dehydrated, and probably drank the ocean water like only an imbecilic would. I made quick work of her, driving my diver's knife into her chest as she attempted to swing her club at my head. Once again, I was alone. With only four of us left, they Gamemakers finally called for a feast, summoning us to the cornucopia for a meal befitting a soon-to-be-victor.

The girl from One was already there, tearing into her meat like a savage beast, the boys from Nine and Five nowhere to be seen. I drove my knife into her back and she never looked up from her food. Soon, Five was on me, knocking the knife from my hand and smashing my face into the table they had erected for the food. We scrapped and clawed, neither of our movements were solid or swift after days in the water. We exhausted ourselves long before the boy from Nine showed himself, now missing an arm and was using a rope to stop the bleeding. His pale face gave off the sense that he had seen better days, but the scythe in his remaining hand said he was still in this game.

With all of us together, the Gamemakers started the finale, sending mutated sharks after us, circling the waters and waiting for us to fall in. Five took advantage of me being distracted by the sharks and slammed my face one last time, only doing so into the side of the golden horn and knocked me out cold. Slumped over is where I stayed, while Nine and Five battled around me, scythe against staff until they actually managed to knock themselves into the water and I was crowned the victor as sharks made off with their limbs.

My post-victory interview and victory tour were a blur, the blows to my head taking away some of my short-term memory. Of course, the look River gave me before her suicide stayed with me and I would spend the rest of my days trying to discover what was behind that wink.


End file.
